"I hope we are the last generation of beaten children." Tech professionals reveal how the belt affected them — A difficult read

According to data from the End Corporal Punishment initiative, associated with WHO, corporal punishment is the most widespread form of violence against children worldwide. Sometimes even people who clearly condemn violence in general still believe that a child can be «spanked» as punishment for misbehavior or «for preventive purposes.»

As of early 2026, a complete ban on corporal punishment of children exists in only 70 out of approximately 200 countries. In the region, Latvia banned hitting children at the legislative level in 1998, Ukraine in 2004, Poland in 2010, and Lithuania in 2017. Currently, the list of countries that prohibit any corporal punishment of children includes not only Sweden, Norway, Germany, and Iceland, but also Zambia, South Sudan, Kenya, Congo, and Laos—countries traditionally considered part of the Global South. Belarus is still not on the list (neither are the USA, Australia, Canada, or Italy).

Why do many parents continue to hit their children even in the 21st century? And how does it affect the children themselves? We asked our readers who experienced violence from their own parents to share their stories.

«My mother gave me a bread knife—large, with serrations—and told me to cut my arm»

Maxim’s* first memory of physical violence from his mother dates back to elementary school (before that, he only remembers emotional abuse):

—My mother was helping me with my homework. There was a task: I needed to show a puppy the shortest path home. There were three options. The first time, I pointed to a zigzag line. A straight line seemed too simple to my child’s mind; I was trying to guess which answer would satisfy my mother. After giving the wrong answer, I received a slap on the back of my head. The second option I named was a wavy line—for this, I got another slap.

My brother was beaten more often. He was less obedient and more strong-willed, and therefore harder to manage. Even though I wasn’t the one being beaten, it still made a strong impression on me. I received a very clear signal: if you’re bad and disobedient, the same will happen to you.

There’s one episode that particularly stuck with me. As a teenager, I started stealing money. I wasn’t giving the school lunch money to the cafeteria, even though the school did not allow opting out of this service, and everything was quickly discovered. By that time, I didn’t have a trusting relationship with my parents; there was only the fear of being rejected if I became «inconvenient» or «embarrassing.» I spent the money on computer clubs, a hobby that seemed shameful to me, something I couldn’t admit to.

My father was less violent. Most often it happened when he was drunk. I remember one episode in fragments: I don’t remember how it started, but at some point I began calling him an alcoholic and a homeless person. He became furious, started beating me, and then dragged me into the bathroom and, as I remember it, began drowning me, periodically asking if I had cooled down. At some point, my will to resist was broken, and I gave up—I started saying I was wrong, that I loved him, and so on. Then came the most disgusting episode: he undressed me and flicked my genitals, joking about my «funny penis.»

When my father was sober, I can recall only one episode of violence. I was sitting at the table trying to figure out how to draw a treble clef. My father approached, asked what I was drawing. I answered honestly, after which I was accused of lying and received a slap on the head. Only years later did I realize that the drawing might have resembled penises—at that moment, I didn’t even know what I was being hit for.

Why did my parents act this way? Regarding the most vivid episodes, my mother, in my view, acted this way because of her inability to deal with public scrutiny. At some point, she felt shame and guilt, and she felt so bad that she needed to find the source of this shame and take revenge on it. To understand the situation and take responsibility requires being truly adult.

I think my mother doesn’t feel unconditional love for me, which is usually expected from a mother. Public opinion turned out to be more important to her than her own children. My brother and I were perceived more as a project in which she invested many resources. And she loves us not as individuals but as the result of her work.

With my father, it’s a different situation. He didn’t have a healthy parenting example: he grew up in an orphanage despite having living parents. My authoritarian mother often suppressed him, and he could only be himself a little when intoxicated, while remaining filled with resentment.

How have the consequences of parental violence affected my life? For a long time, I was ashamed to talk about what happened in my family. I’m still cautious in relationships and don’t trust easily. When an adult who should protect you shows violence, what trust in the world can there be? You constantly have to read signals about where and for what you might be punished. I developed excessive strictness toward myself: I need to be the best, strive for perfection to please my mother and earn her love, never to upset or disappoint her.

Now I’ve come to acceptance and understanding that it wasn’t about me and that I won’t achieve or earn true maternal love. There’s still discomfort being around my parents: I catch myself involuntarily choosing words to make my mother have a better impression of me and my environment.

I have a young daughter, and I absolutely do not allow violent methods of upbringing. I don’t want her to grow up feeling that she can’t rely on the people closest to her and with a constant fear of being rejected if she becomes inconvenient. For me, the answer to the question «why you shouldn’t hit children» is as obvious as the answer to «why you shouldn’t hit the elderly.»

«During father’s drunken rampages, my mother and I would go sleep on the kitchen floor»

When Vera* was a child, she and her mother were beaten by her father:

—My father drank heavily for as long as I can remember. Being an authoritarian person, he had high expectations for all family members. Anything could trigger a scandal and punishment: prepared food, cleanliness of the house, grades at school. And when drunk, he was completely unpredictable, beating my mother and me.

Physical punishments were a common practice for him. They were accompanied by psychological abuse: devaluation, predicting a future as a janitor or milkmaid, promising to punish me later. This was a special torture, as the punishment could come at any random moment: a day later or a week later, so you lived on pins and needles).

We lived in a tiny apartment. I remember how during my father’s drunken rampages, my mother and I would go sleep on the kitchen floor. And how we froze every time my father got up to go to the bathroom. I will never forget that animal terror, which creates a desire to disappear.

As an adult, I never managed to discuss this childhood pain with my father. And it seems it would have been pointless: he would never have admitted his guilt.

Although I saw similar families around me, I was always very ashamed to tell anyone about what was happening to me. Only after some time did I realize: what my father did didn’t characterize me as a bad person. It wasn’t my fault, but his.

He was a very cruel person to both people and animals. He himself had a similar childhood, probably that influenced him. Sometimes victims of physical punishment become supporters of such an approach to upbringing. After all, they turned out normal. But did they really turn out normal? Very questionable.

How has all this affected me? Those events have a complex set of consequences that I’m now figuring out and dealing with, with varying degrees of success. Four years in therapy have helped smooth them out, but not eliminate them completely. A manic need to control everything (because in childhood it was vital), difficulty in dividing responsibilities and delegating, difficulty in accepting help and care. Impostor syndrome, because for my father I was never good enough, despite excellent studies at school and university, and now a high-paying job and excellent living conditions, a wonderful family. And also the need to be good for everyone around, sometimes to my own detriment.

This is what I’m trying to give to my child now: unconditional support and love. Through her, I give love to my little self. There can be no question of physical punishment. You can’t hit people. Period. And I will always stand up in her defense.

«Belt, stinging nettles while outdoors, extension cord—everything was used»

Oleg*, as a child, also regularly faced violence from his father:

—Unfortunately, I had to go through this experience. As a child, I didn’t do anything terrible—I didn’t break windows, didn’t steal my father’s car for a joyride, didn’t end up in the juvenile detention center. I was just an active child.

Nevertheless, my father established a regime of total obedience at home. This is strange, because in his family everything was quite liberal. A belt, stinging nettles while outdoors, an extension cord—everything was used.

This strongly affected me, adding a significant element of anxiety to my character. And also… I can’t call it sadism, but I developed a habit of getting my way through pressure and enjoying the process. In childhood, this manifested as fights with other children. In adulthood, it took the form of workplace toxicity.

I don’t plan to use physical punishment on my children: I consider it an absolute taboo. It destroys human dignity and creates destructive patterns of handling disagreement. And between parents and children, violence establishes hierarchical relationships instead of trusting ones. Moreover, in the most primitive form, when hierarchy is based on physical violence.

This may be simpler for parents in the moment. But in the long run, it brings nothing but hatred. I’m happy that in the modern world such methods of upbringing have become unacceptable. I hope we are the last generation of beaten children.

I couldn’t forgive my father for a long time. I barely communicated with him for about 15 years. And even after that, «some residue remained.» And was it worth it?

«And here we are in the 90s—and such nonsense»

As for Sergey*, he was beaten by his mother as a child:

—Her arsenal included a belt. This never led to hospitalization with a concussion. But it still had a certain influence on my development as a person. And hardly for the better. It’s difficult for me to trace the causal relationship between my character traits and this violence. But I see it, perhaps not so much in self-esteem, but in my attitude toward women, in which fear is clearly manifested.

As an adult, I tried to understand and imagine what was happening inside my mother when she used the belt on me. I tried to imagine how she had been treated in childhood (spoiler—in her family, everything was even worse, so I believe that violence against children is decreasing over generations).

I also understood why it’s important to read the classics. I read «The Brothers Karamazov» for the first time this year. The theme of violence against children and flogging in school is mentioned several times. For example, when passers-by asked a mischievous schoolboy if they still get flogged at school, and were greatly distressed when they learned that they don’t.

This is the mid-19th century. Yes, it’s not a fact that Dostoevsky accurately portrayed that reality, but it’s obvious that even then society was discussing whether it’s normal to beat children. Yet here we were in the 90s—still dealing with such nonsense.

I also think that my parents' generation saw the main measure of success in raising children as: «Well, at least he grew up, got educated, achieved something.» But I would suggest measuring parenting success by other metrics:

• what kind of relationship will the child have with parents in adulthood (I would hardly call mine close);
• how is the child’s self-esteem?
• is he capable of building healthy relationships with a partner?

* — the narrator’s name has been changed